


Searching for a Pulse

by cryptidkickflip



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF Keith (Voltron), BAMF Shiro (Voltron), Blind AU, Blind!Shiro, M/M, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, thats pretty much it, thats the whole au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 17:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17902499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidkickflip/pseuds/cryptidkickflip
Summary: What if Shiro had reared back just an inch more when he’d gotten his face scar? What if he’d been just one heartbeat faster?





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

A person’s heartbeat varies with multiple factors. Their age, their activity level, what they’re doing at the moment in time when it’s being measured. In moments of high activity, a person’s heartbeat could go up to 120 beats per minute. That’s two heartbeats every second.

  
All it took was one.

  
One heartbeat, Shiro thought as his knees crumpled and he fell like a stone dropped in water.

  
One heartbeat and it was all over.

  
The world blinked out around him in the space of a single heartbeat. He flung his hands up in front of his face as he laid on his back in the dirt and the crowd in the arena went wild.

  
The announcer bawled something in Galra, the crowd booing, and the buzzer sounded.

  
The Champion laid curled in the dust, shaking and choking on the taste of his own blood on his lips.

  
One fucking heartbeat.

* * *

  
They scraped him off the clay floor of the arena. Shiro figured they’d left his dignity somewhere in the dust as he tried to get his gelatinous knees and traitorous leaden feet to co-operate enough to walk out on his own power.

  
Blood streamed down his face and he blinked his eyes.

  
He wasn’t stupid. He knew what had happened the very moment he’d hit the dirt. His face was ruined, his sight taken with it.

  
His heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled alongside whatever Galra came to collect him.

  
“Hey,” He muttered, gripping the arm of the Galra on his right. “I can’t…” He trailed off, stumbling over a crack in the floor. “My eyes,”

  
“The medic will see you.” The Galra growled in stilted English as they dumped him on the floor. Hard concrete met his knees and the palms of his hands and he could feel the blood spattering onto the concrete between his hands from the wound bleeding freely.

  
The door to slammed shut behind him, clanging with a metal finality that ratcheted his heartrate up a few degrees.

  
They just put him into his cell.

  
It wasn’t well lit by any means, before, but now… He couldn’t see anything. His breath hitched in his throat and he rocked back on his heels, putting his hands out in front of him. He assumed he was facing the back wall, and the cot should be to his left.

  
He inched forward on his knees and splayed his arms to the side, feeling for any obstacles.

  
A rock dug into his knee and he hissed, sitting down on reflex to rub the pain out of his knee.

  
A laugh startled him and he turned towards it.

The guards must be watching him, still.

  
He grit his teeth.

  
They were always watching him.

  
He pulled his knees into his chest and tried to take a few deep breaths, but his breath just wouldn’t come. His breaths got shallower and shallower as it really sunk in.

  
He was blind.

  
He needed to get to his cot, something, orient himself, but the half-turn he’d done when the guard laughed turned him around. Was it a quarter-turn? A half-turn? Throwing his arms out again didn’t do him any favors as blood dripped down his chin.

  
His cell wasn’t big, but in the impenetrable dark, it may as well have been the ocean.

Steel bands wound their way around his chest as he stood, desperate to find a wall to anchor himself to.

  
His head spun, vertigo kicking in and he stumbled, an arm flying out to catch something, anything.

  
Shiro hit the ground for the third time in minutes to the sound of the guards cackling at him as they walked away, talking easily amongst themselves.

  
He rocked back on the balls of his feet and shuddered.

  
He stood again, taking a hesitant step forward with his arms outstretched. The cell was only a few paces wide. He couldn’t be that lost, he told himself.

  
His hand brushed the concrete of the wall and he lunged for it, clinging to it like it was the only oxygen in a sinking ship.

  
With the way his breaths were wheezing in his chest, it very well could have been.

  
He didn’t know what wall he was facing. He ran his hands over it, hoping to feel anything distinguishable, but he’d never had to identify the walls in his cell by touch alone. His feet carried him to the corner in five shaky, gasping paces.

  
His right hand met with the bars of his cell. The front. He turned and followed the bars, knowing the cot rested against the opposite wall.

  
He barked his shins on the flimsy bed and collapsed into it, shuddering.

  
Jesus Christ.

  
He was blind and he was alone.

  
How the fuck was he meant to get Matt, Sam and himself back to Earth after this?

* * *

 

Shiro didn’t know how long he laid in his cot before he heard footsteps coming down the hall. His grasp on time was shaky at best when he could see, but now that he couldn’t discern day from night in the artificial daylight on the ship, he was adrift.

  
At least the blood had stopped running down his face some time ago.

  
The cell door unlocked and he scrambled back, pulling his knees to his chest and putting his hands in front of his ruined face.

  
“Takashi?” Sam’s voice said gently from the front of his cell. “It’s only me. You’re alright,” Sam said soothingly.

  
“Sam,” Shiro ground out. “I can’t see. My eyes,” He put his hands down and turned his face toward the sound of Sam’s voice. His breaths threatened to choke the life out of him and his hands shook where he held them out, palm up, in front of himself. “They’re ruined.”

  
“Shiro,” Sam breathed, sitting down on the bed. “Son, I am so sorry. There’s not… There’s not much I can do,” Hands probed Shiro’s face and he flinched back with a hiss.

  
The pain hadn’t set in until the panic attack had ebbed away.

  
This wouldn’t be the first scar Shiro had gotten in the arena, but he felt a weight in his chest that told him it would be the last.

  
Corpses didn’t scar over.

  
“I have some gauze, some ointment,” Sam said, voice thin.

  
“That’s not going to do much for the eyes,” Shiro spat, laying back down and rolling over. Sam sat, stock still, as Shiro’s shoulders began to shake.

  
“They’re fighting you again.” Sam said with certainty. “They gave me a translator node to make me work more efficiently,” He said stiffly.

  
“Of course they are.” Shiro whispered, clutching the blanket to himself. He was drowning, drowning, drowning.

  
“I can’t… I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Sam said tautly, reaching a shaking hand out to grasp Shiro’s forearm. “I’m not going to give up. I’ll figure something out, son, we can’t just…”

  
“If I go back into that arena, I’m going to die.” Shiro said heavily. “I can’t fight like this.”

  
“We’re going to figure something out, Shiro.” Sam said fiercely. “I’m not going to let you die. Matt’s not going to let you die.”

  
“Is he still with you?” Shiro said, reaching his other hand out to gently set it on top of Sam’s.

  
“He is,” Sam confirmed.

  
“Keep him safe, will you?” Shiro requested. “Don’t let him go down to the arena.”

  
“That’s your job.” Sam insisted. “You’re not going anywhere, Shiro.”

  
After Sam left, Shiro counted his heartbeats and wondered just how many he’d have left.

* * *

  
A clang brought Shiro back to his body.

  
The hulking behemoth stood before him, jaws gnashing as he snarled and scuffed at the dirt in the arena with one of his legs.

  
Shiro crouched before the buzzer sounded.  
He’d be ready. He’d be ready this time, when the behemoth’s hand swiped at his face. He’d be ready, this time.

  
He figured, with some irritation, that he’d be readier if someone wasn’t screaming at the top of his lungs.

  
Shiro was thrown to the ground and with a start, he realized that he was in the dark.

  
As he shook off the nightmare, he remembered why.

  
He was in the dark because he wasn’t fast enough.

  
He was screaming because he was in the dark.

  
“Get on your feet,” A guard growled, snatching his arm and roughly dragging him to a standing position. Shiro put his hands together in front of his body and ducked his head, shame simmering.

  
A guard took his wrists and wrenched him to face the front of the cell, shackling them together.

  
Shiro stumbled after them.

  
They wouldn’t lead him down the hallway. He had to listen to the guard in front’s footsteps and keep up, or earn himself a swift kick from the guard behind.

  
The third time he peeled himself from the floor in the hallway to the sound of the two guards laughing at his prone form, he vowed that if he survived, at least one of them wouldn’t.

  
Damn the consequences, this time.

  
What did he have to lose?

* * *

  
The buzzer sounded and Shiro crouched, waiting for whatever Shiro had in store for him to show itself.

  
He stood in a defensive position, trying to hear anything over the crowd, but it was damn near impossible.

  
A phrase drifted idly though his mind before he was knocked off his feet.

  
“No man is an island,”

  
He’d heard it once before. It was supposed to mean that nobody was ever alone.

  
“No man is an island,”

  
Searing pain tore through his right bicep, wrenching a scream out of him as he tried to scramble away from it, get away, fight it off, anything.

  
“No man is an island,”

  
A sickening snap resounded in his ears, traveled up his jaw, rocked his molars. He gripped what was left of his right arm in his left hand, still screaming, screaming, screaming.

  
“No man is an island,”

  
Consciousness slipped away from Takashi Shirogane for the second time in as many days, dying in the clay on the floor of the arena to cheers all around him.

  
“No man is an island,”

  
That phrase held some merit.

  
No man is an island. Takashi Shirogane was a sinking ship.

* * *

  
“Careful,” Shiro stirred to the sound of Sam’s voice.

  
“He’s Big,” Matt grunted, making Shiro jolt and a shock of pain stream up his arm. “With a capital B, Dad.”

  
Sam just grunted back at him in response and he felt whatever he was laying on tip up a few degrees on one side.

  
“What?” He managed to ask. It felt like he’d been eating cotton for days.

  
“You’re awake!” The other side of the surface dipped and Sam hissed a quick admonition. “Can you move? Walk? We have to go, now, and carrying you is not helping.”

  
“Yeah,” Shiro said. He wasn’t actually sure, but the urgency in Matt’s voice had him reaching his arms out to find the edge of the thing he was laying on.

  
His heart jumped to his throat when he realized he’d be reaching out his arm. Jesus Christ.

  
Grunting, Matt and Sam set down the stretcher they’d stolen from the infirmary. Matt helped Shiro stand and slung Shiro’s arm across his shoulders.

  
“How’s it feel?” Matt asked as they made their way… Somewhere?

  
“What?” Shiro asked, tired.

  
“You’re officially dead. According to the logs, anyway,” Matt said, squeezing Shiro’s wrists. “Dad marked you down as killed in the ring.”

  
“Great.” Shiro huffed. He wasn’t even registering the pain anymore, he didn’t think. It was all just heavy. He felt so, so heavy.

  
“Get in,” Sam said, opening a door. Shiro heard metal grit on metal and Matt hustled him into a small door.

  
A pod?

  
“We don’t have much time,” Sam continued. “You’ll only have a few days of air, but it’s better than your chances here,” He said, rushed.

  
“Wait, what?” Matt said, leaning back out of the pod. “Dad, get in here.”

  
“Someone has to disengage the locks, Matthew. From here.” Sam said, voice grave. “I love you both.”

  
“Dad, no!” Matt said.

  
“Sam, we have to find another way.” Shiro said, turning toward the door.

  
“Not in the time we have. Get in the pod, boys.” Sam said sternly. An alarm klaxon began to sound and Shiro could hear boots on the metal floor. “Get in the pod!”

  
“Dad!” The door slammed on the pod and Shiro heard the locks disengage as Matt began to sob in earnest. “Dad,”

  
The pod began to drift in space, tipping on its axis without the engine engaged.

  
“Matt,” Shiro said quietly, reaching a hand out toward his best friend. “Matt, you have to drive. I… I can’t,”

  
“Okay,” Matt shuddered. Shiro heard him scrambling in his chair. “Okay. Okay.” He chanted. Shiro kept his hand on Matt’s shoulder as the engines started up and Matt opened up the throttle.

  
“Jesus Christ,” Shiro said, dazed. The remainder of his arm throbbed. His face throbbed. Various bruises around his person reminded themselves of their presence.

  
But he was alive.

  
The heartbeat in his ears reminded himself of that.

  
“Jesus Christ.” Matt echoed heavily. “I’d ask you if you knew how to read Galra,” Matt trailed off.

  
Shiro chuckled darkly.

  
“Even if I had eyes, it’d be a no, Matt.”

  
“How the fuck are we meant to navigate?” 


	2. Chapter 2

The craft crash-landed on a barren planet just before they ran out of air.

Sam had apparently pressed a bag with a few days of rations and some medical equipment in it for Shiro’s wounds into Matt’s arms before he’d sent their ship careening into space.

Shiro was grateful. He’d survived the arena, more or less. He didn’t want to die of sepsis while they floated aimlessly in outer space.

“The trees look like, I dunno, scrubber pads or something? On sticks?” Matt said as they extricated themselves from the pod. “We’re going to have to find some shelter, soon. Night is probably going to fall.”

“Great,” Shiro muttered, accepting the arm Matt thrust at him. Not that night would matter to Shiro. Not anymore.

They walked, Shiro staying quiet while Matt tried to describe the scenery for him. Shiro knew that Matt was just talking to keep himself from thinking. Shiro wished he had that luxury.

Shiro wasn’t a betting man, not anymore, but he could put money on the fact that Sam had given his life to save theirs. There was no way the Galra would let something like that go.

There was no way the Galra would let their Champion go, even if he was broken, mind and body.

Shiro’s hand tightened on Matt’s arm as he stumbled. Again.

“Do you need a breather? We probably need to change some bandages and we can eat some rations.” Matt said, tugging Shiro towards a rock outcropping for the shade.

Shiro didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Matt just continued talking.

“We’ve got some rations for the next two days if we eat sparingly. We took the rest of the water from the ship, so that’ll probably last us two days after that, and then…”

“We’re on our own,” Shiro finished, tipping his head up toward where he could feel the sun. “Perfect.”

“I can see some kind of mountain. It’s a little far away, but it looks like the vegetation is a little different. I’m sure we’ll be able to find something to eat, or something in there,” Matt continued at a break-neck pace.

“Or something that will eat us,” Shiro said, squaring his shoulders. He frowned. “Have you seen any other signs of life anywhere?”

“No, honestly. The weird trees and the rocks are about it.”

“And the vegetation near the mountain?” Shiro asked, leaning forward on his knees. “It looks more alive?”

“Yep,” Matt said, nodding once. “We should get there before the food runs out.” Shiro finished his ration bar up and shifted to position himself so that his wounded arm would face Matt.

Matt carefully unwound the gauze and tape to show the neat rows of stitches that his father had put into Shiro’s arm.

“It smells,” Shiro said softly, turning his face toward Matt.

“I think I’m going to use some of the water to rinse it out,” He said slowly, inspecting the wound.

“No,” Shiro said quickly, holding up his hand to stop Matt. “We don’t know what the water supply is going to be like here. You’re going to need it.”

“You are too,” Matt said, gritting his teeth. “Stop talking like you’re going to drop dead any second,”

“You’re not going to make it far. With me,” Shiro said pragmatically as Matt uncapped one of the water bottles. “You should just leave me.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Matt said, his jaw tight and his grip on Shiro’s shoulder tighter. “I’m not going to… Dad gave up his life for us, Shiro. We’re going to stick together. Even if Dad didn’t… I’d still keep you around. You’re my best friend.”

Shiro tucked his chin and grimaced when the water hit his arm. It was cool, and the fever that he likely had made it feel cooler, almost painfully so.

“Okay.”

“So you better hang on. If I catch you giving up…” Matt said, trailing off and looking skyward, tears trailing down the sides of his face. “If I catch you giving up I’ll break your fucking legs, Shirogane.”

Shiro snorted at the joke, choking on his own tears.

He grabbed Matt with his other arm and reeled him in, giving him the hug he couldn’t give when Matt was piloting the escape pod.

“Okay,” Shiro said, nearly to himself. “We have to get up.”

“Yep.” Matt sighed.

They were silent for another few moments, leaning into one another and against the rock formation.

“So the sun’s going down?” Shiro asked, looking around. He didn’t have too much light perception, but he got the feeling that the sun was off to his right.

“Yep.”

“And we’re under a rock thing?”

“Yep.”

“Move.”

Shiro kicked his feet out from under him and got horizontal, throwing his left arm over his eyes out of habit. He sighed deeply before he uncovered his face and put his arm behind his head, between his head and the hard stone beneath him.

He dropped off into sleep shortly after, dreams plagued with his last moments as a sighted man. His last moment with two arms.

He had been having quite a few lasts, recently, and he would be the first to tell you that he didn’t care for it.

Shiro didn’t know how long he was asleep, but he knew it didn’t feel like long when he was woken to hands all over him and Matt hollering to his left.

“Get your hands off of him! Get away!” Matt was screaming, top of his lungs. That forced Shiro to his feet, knocking a few hands off of him and baring his teeth towards the voices, a cacophony of nonsense to his sleep-addled brain. He dropped into a fighting stance with a snarl, facing the direction he was mostly sure the majority of the attackers were in.

“Hey! Hey,” A woman’s voice snapped. “Enough! We’re not trying to hurt you,”

“Well, the electric swords didn’t make that clear,” Matt said sarcastically.

“Let them go,” The same voice said. “Let’s just explain ourselves, shall we?”

“Electric swords?” Shiro muttered, hearing Matt take a few quick steps back toward him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s five of them,” Matt said quickly, latching onto Shiro’s arm to let him know where he was. “All of them have these glowing purple swords. There’s hoverbikes.”

“Purple… Not Galra,” Shiro says, casting his arm out in front of Matt and taking a step back. He’d fight to the death to avoid that. He wasn’t going back. Not again.

“They’re wearing masks,” Matt said, just as he was cut off by one of the intruders.

“Yes, but not what you think.” There was the sound of clothes rustling and Matt clutched at his wrist. “We are Galra, that’s true. But we’re from the Blade of Marmora. We’re a rebel group. We tracked the signal on your escape pod so we could find you before they did.”

“How are we supposed to trust you?” Matt asked, voice shaking.

“I am Antok,” Shiro heard a heavy step come toward them and he slid his foot farther in front of Matt.

“Don’t come any closer,” Shiro said, tucking his chin closer to his chest with a snarl.

“Alright. I won’t,” Antok said placatingly. “This is Vhys, Gnaltov, Vortagg, and Krakzaz.” Shiro assumed that Antok was gesturing to each of the Galra in front of them in turn and he ground his teeth.

“Great. What do you want with us?” Shiro asked, crowding Matt against him. “In case you haven’t noticed,” He said dryly, rolling his good shoulder out. “I’m not your Champion anymore.”

“No,” Antok said quietly. “We’re hoping to protect you.”

“From what?” Shiro asked, straightening up a fraction.

“From the Empire. They’re on their way, now. They won’t capture you.”

“They’ll kill us on sight,” Shiro said, confirming his own fears.

He wasn’t sure if he was afraid of that, necessarily. He was probably more afraid of what they’d do if they caught him, to be honest. He didn’t want to go back.

He couldn’t go back.

“How do you think you’re going to protect us?” Matt asked, making Shiro turn his head slightly towards him.

“We are authorized to take you back to our base,” Antok said slowly.

“So you’re going to kidnap us,” Matt said tightly.

“Unless you’d like to stay here,” Antok said, dry humour working its way into his voice. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but winter is due to begin here in about two vargas,”

“Winter? It’s scorching hot,” Matt said, looking around at the desert.

“Sir? It’s more like one and a half vargas,” The Galra that Antok had indicated was Gnaltov said, checking the datapad that she was holding. “We’re going to have to hurry.”

Shiro tucked his chin.

“The fact that they haven’t shot us yet is promising,” He said, turning towards Matt.

“Right.”

“And that they haven’t hogtied us and thrown us in the gulag.”

“Yep.”

“We really don’t have enough food to last. Not enough water. My arm stinks.”

“Sure does, buddy.”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed.”

“Have you made your decision?” Antok asked, sounding more impatient by the second.

“God, okay. Yes. Take us to your leader,” Matt scoffed, taking Shiro by the arm.

“How long have you waited to say that to somebody?” Shiro asked, actually chuckling. He wasn’t fully aware he could still _do that_. Leave it to Matt to find out.

“Too goddamn long. Who’s riding with who?” Matt asked, stopping short. Shiro assumed there were bikes involved and he wondered how steady he would be at riding one, even bitch, down an arm and blind.  

“You are with me,” Antok said, scanning his team quickly. “And Champion, you with Vhys.”

“I’m Shiro. Not the Champion,” Shiro snapped.

There was a brief pause and Shiro could have choked on it. They were exchanging looks. He knew it.

“Shiro rides with Vhys, then,” Antok said slowly. “And you?”

“I’m Matt.”

Antok hummed his acknowledgement as Matt lead Shiro to the back of Vhys’ bike. Shiro swallowed his pride and allowed Matt to help him swing a leg over.

He tried not to think about how he could have done this in his sleep back at the Garrison, with...

He tried not to think about the Garrison in general.

There were too many ghosts that walked those halls for Shiro’s liking.

“You know how to ride one of these?” Vhys asked. It was a neutral question, but for some reason, Shiro could taste blood in his mouth. His fist clenched so tightly he felt blood trickle down his palm, too.

“Shiro’s the best pilot I ever knew,” Matt said from his right. “Probably the best pilot I will ever know.”

“Was,” Shiro said, leaning back to allow Vhys to climb on their bike.

“Is,” Matt said, leaning over to punch Shiro once.

Antok snarled at the way the bike almost tipped over, but Matt considered the battle won.

He wished he wasn’t looking head-on at a war.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro learned, by proxy of Matt, that the base was nestled between a giant blue star and two black holes. Beautiful and dangerous, landing a craft there was a feat that not many pilots could accomplish.

Shiro felt a pang of something that rhymed with jealousy that Antok sailed directly to the hangar, with barely a single moment of turbulence.

This was the second time that he was in the passenger side of a ship due to the arena. The forced passivity of it all ate away behind his sternum and gave him heartburn, like the time he and Keith got in a chilli pepper eating contest with Matt.

The memory sat heavily in his gut, like the leftovers from that burrito night, and made his feet sluggish as they disembarked the craft.

Matt was a steady stream of talk, telling Shiro about the hangar and the blue and purple lighting and the other ships and the other Blades. Shiro wanted to know where he was, needed a sense of place, but listening to Matt was almost more than he could take.

Antok offered them quarters to rest in, and Shiro jumped on the chance for a moment alone.

He felt like a grade-A asshole, nearly running away from Matt when he was shown the front door to the quarters with a mumbled excuse of a headache and needing a nap, but he just… He couldn’t do it.

The metal doors slid behind him after Matt told him he’d be one door down the hall to the left and he was alone.

Blissfully, painfully, thoroughly alone.

He should have let Matt lead him around the room, first, like he’d wanted. Now he was left to stumble around, searching for the bed.

He was a fucking Garrison pilot, for god’s sake.

Now he was left casting his arm around, looking for a hint of furniture in what couldn’t be more than a five-by-five bunk.

What a fucking disgrace.

He barked his shins on something after what felt like a half an hour and a quick pat confirmed it was a cot. He spun on his heel and sat, searching out the pillow-end and the edge of the blankets before wrapping himself up and curling in on himself.

From tip to toe, he _hurt_. Everything throbbed, the epicentres being the remainder of his arm and his face, but also his knees, his ribs, his feet.

He heaved a breath, feeling his chest tightening and his throat clicking against the flood. He was breathing through saltwater, reaching up from the depths of the ocean for any speck of light.

He was drowning.

Shiro didn’t know when he started sobbing, he just knew when the shuddering breath rattled his bruised and broken ribs and sent a lancing pain through his chest, forcing him to fold in upon himself in agony.

The movement and the sobbing only made him hurt worse.

He felt pitiful. This was the first time in a long time he’d felt small.

He worked so hard. So fucking hard, to get where he had been.

How the mighty have fallen.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but soon, he was dreaming of racing across golden sands, just behind another hoverbike.

He wanted to see the other racer’s face. He knew it was someone he wanted to see, needed to see, but he never turned around.

He rode harder and faster, taking bigger risks and making crazy manoeuvres, but he could never get in front of the other racer.

A cliff was coming up fast, and the dark-haired racer opened up the throttle, leaning forward, hair whipping in the wind.

Shiro knew that he’d know the rider, if he’d only see the face.

His hoverbike was eating the dust below him, the ground disappearing at breakneck speeds and the cliff getting closer, closer, closer, until he’d have to brake or swerve.

He looked to the other rider. He was doing neither, pace set straight ahead.

Shiro didn’t know why he was chasing him, but he knew that he’d follow him to the ends of the earth, literally and metaphorically, and he braced for impact.

The ground dropped out below them.

As Shiro pitched forward, losing control of the bike and his descent, the other rider disappeared.

In the pit of his stomach, he knew one of his last regrets would be never seeing the other man’s face again.

The floor of the ravine came up to meet him, and just as he prepared for the end, hands gripped his shoulders and he was ripped back to reality to the sounds of screams.

His own.

Matt’s voice floated in over the din. It was like Shiro wasn’t in his body for a moment, hearing himself scream and Matt try and talk him back from the precipice that he was standing on.

When he was able, he wrapped his hand around Matt’s wrist and locked on to what he was saying: “Breathe, Shiro, c’mon buddy. I know you know how. In and out with me, can you feel me breathing with you?”

He could. His back was pressed against Matt’s front and Matt’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Shiro took a hiccupping breath, trying to stick to the pace that Matt set.

Matt kept babbling to him, soothingly, steadily, reeling Shiro’s conscious mind back into his body little by little.

“You with us, pal?”

“I’m with you,” Shiro breathed, trying to blink the gravel out of his eyes.

“Okay. Alright. We’ll take another second.”

Matt allowed him to sit in the silence of the bunk, listening to the sounds of the metal of the ship flex and bow in the frigid temperatures of space around him.

“I’m okay.” Shiro declared. He figured if he said it enough, it’d finally be true.

“Alright. We figured we’d let you sleep before we took you down to the med bay.”

“Right. Med bay.” With a rush, Shiro remembered that he’d been hurt, and badly.

“They wanted to drag you right in there but I figured… I figured you’d need a minute,” Matt said apologetically as Shiro sat up.

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Shiro said, tucking his chin in shame. He’d been such an asshole and he had to continually remind himself that Matt had lost something, too.

“No. Don’t be sorry,” Matt said, gripping Shiro’s forearm. “I want to help, but I don’t know how. Tell me what you need, okay? I don’t want to bother you, but I don’t want you to feel like I just turned you loose,” Matt said, squeezing Shiro’s arm once. “I love you, dude. Don’t forget it.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro said, tilting his head toward Matt. Their foreheads tapped together once and Matt hummed, just letting them sit there for a moment in the quiet.

“Ready to get checked out? They think that we can use the same antiseptic and you uh… You really need it.” Matt said ruefully as they both stood.

“If you’re telling me I need a bath, you can just say so.” Shiro chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the next order of business,” Matt said, sniffing dramatically at Shiro’s shirt. He laughed and swatted him away as Matt lead him to the door.  “You’ll never believe their shower system. It has a built-in filtration function, so all in all, you only use about ten gallons of water, no matter how long you shower,”

Matt told him about the showers and the bathrooms and the bunks for the whole walk. It wasn’t as grating as it had been earlier. Matt had reaffirmed Shiro’s mantra. They were all just trying their best.

Shiro tried to remember that when a cold-handed Galra medic inspected his wounds.

It hurt. From the edge of the stump to his jaw and his ribcage, it _ached_ , bone-deep and firey at every touch and movement. He knew they needed to clean it. The dust from the arena, the escape, the pod, the dirt from the planet they landed on, he knew that there had been so much contamination, he’d be lucky if they didn’t have to take more.

The notion made him sick.

“If you’re open,” The medic, Berez, said once he’d finished his work. “We may have an option for you.”

“An option?” Shiro asked, tilting his head.

“We have access to some Galra tech. It may take a phoeb or two, but we may be able to give you a prosthetic arm that will act as if it were your own.” Shiro frowned.

“What’s the catch?” He asked, mind whirling.

“Catch? I’m sorry, the phrase doesn’t seem to be translating properly,” Berez said, tapping at something with a claw.

“The cost,” Shiro asked. “There’s always a cost.”

Berez was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“Wise.” He said simply. “Kolivan would talk to you further, but the Blades need as many allies as we can get.”

“You’d want me to be your ally?” Shiro asked, wincing as Berez cleaned the cut on his face.

“Kolivan will talk to you further,” Berez repeated. “He has requested that you join him for dinner once I’m through here.”

“Okay,” Shiro agreed, trying to hold very still while Berez put something that burned on the cut.

“Both of you.”

“Wait, me too?” Matt asked from the other end of the examination table.

“Yes,” Berez said succinctly. “I’m through with cleaning your wounds. Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll be keeping a close eye on them to ensure that they don’t fester.”

“Great,” Shiro sighed, getting up from the table. “Wouldn’t want it to fester,”

“Just a regular fester-fest,” Matt said, elbowing Shiro. Shiro chuckled at the dark humour that seemed to be both of their brands recently as he followed Matt’s lead down the hallway.

“Just going to meet the head of an alien rebel group,” Shiro said, shrugging his good shoulder.

“No biggie. Everyday stuff for swashbucklers like us,” Matt said, forcing nonchalance.

“Yeah, every day,” Shiro said, his steps echoing in the hallway.

They paused, outside of what Shiro assumed to be the door to Kolivan’s quarters.

“Shit,” Matt said, hissing through his teeth. “I feel like we’ve gone way past the whole, ‘Hey, Shiro! Mind if we join an alien rebel alliance?’ part.”

“That ship has sailed,” Shiro said, shaking his head. “Unless you want to end up back on the battlecruiser?”

“Nope. No, absolutely not.”

“Then it looks like we’re rebels,” Shiro said, ducking his head. The door slid open. Kolivan was waiting for them.

“Great. You first.”


	4. Chapter 4

They sat down at the table with Kolivan, looking across a small spread of some varying kinds of food that Matt had never seen before. He tried to explain what they were to Shiro, but he kept getting hung up on the first bit there: what they actually were.

Kolivan watched on with mild amusement as Matt tried to make a plate, looking to Kolivan’s for reference, for both of them.

“I hope the meal is to your tastes,” Kolivan finally said, sitting back down after getting some water for the table. “I’m not quite sure how much humans will enjoy our fare.”

“That would be a cool study,” Matt said, looking down at the plate. “How varying species from different planets have different palettes,”

“It would,” Kolivan agreed, taking a bite of his meal. “But that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Matt said, pouring Shiro a glass of water and telling him where it was.

Shiro chafed at all the help, but he couldn’t wave it away. He wouldn’t have been able to do it by himself. Matt pressed the fork into his hand and brought Shiro’s knuckles up to touch the plate with a wan grin.

“Go ham, I guess,” Matt said, shrugging and looking at Kolivan from the corner of his eye. “It’s gonna be messy, but what can you do?”

“Got a bib?” Shiro joked, leaning forward to sniff the food.

“I’m afraid not,” Kolivan said, looking between the two men with a blank facial expression. Matt couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “But we are capable of cleaning your clothes and offering you new ones. So enjoy.”

Shiro chuckled darkly. Maybe Kolivan wasn’t all that bad.

“Our first order of business is to heal your wounds, Champion. We have options for your arm, but your eyes will be a little more difficult.” Kolivan began.

“Will all due respect, sir,” Shiro said, after managing to stab something with his fork and bring it to his mouth. It wasn’t all that bad, by his standards. “I’d rather not be called the Champion. I’m not anyone’s Champion. Not anymore.”

“That’s fair.” Kolivan allowed. “What would you prefer?”

“I’m just… Shiro,” Shiro said, shrugging.

“Then, Shiro,” Kolivan continued. “We are capable of getting a prosthetic from a Galra outpost with our next supply drop if we send word that we need one soon.”

“What would it cost?” Shiro asked, cocking his head at Kolivan.

“From you, nothing.” Beside Shiro, Matt squinted. He frowned as he felt, somehow, the god of responsibility turn its eyes upon him instead. “From you, however… We are aware that you worked in the labs on the battlecruiser.”

“Yeah,” Matt confirmed. “I was a scientist back on Earth.”

“Good. If we get Shiro his arm, we would need the information from the battlecruiser in return.” Kolivan said, steepling his fingers in front of his plate.

“You know what, that’s fine,” Matt said. “I was honestly prepared to do that for free, but this is better.”

Shiro sat in silence.

He had worked so hard to become an asset. He worked until he was invaluable, an essential member on any team he was a part of.

It only took a moment for the arena to wipe that all away.

He felt sick.

“Excellent. We will send word for the prosthetic. Berez will fit you when you return to get your wounds cleaned, Shiro.”

That was as much of a dismissal as any.

“Thank you,” Shiro said, standing and pushing back his chair. He wasn’t sure how much he actually managed to eat out of what was on his plate, but it sure as hell wasn’t enough.

They made their way back toward the bunk area.

“I’m right across the hall,” Matt said, lingering in the hallway. “Like, five steps? Max? Feel free to knock on my door whenever.” He said and Shiro heard the doors open. “Goodnight, Alien Rebel Operative Shirogane,”

Shiro snorted despite how miserable he felt.

“Goodnight, Alien Rebel Operative Holt.”

“I like the sound of that. Rebel Holt.”

“Don’t get too attached,” Shiro laughed. “We’re not staying. First bus back to Earth.”

“Well, sure,” Matt said, leaning on the doorframe to his room. “But still. How many people can put, ‘I was briefly in an alien rebel faction,’ on their resumes?”

“Literally no one. And I doubt they’re going to let you tell people that classified information.” Shiro drawled, shifting on his feet.

“Well…” Matt replied. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Shiro echoed, shifting his weight on his feet. He still felt the pull of every one of his wounds and the silence reverberating around him only reminded him of the long road he had ahead. “Do you… Do you want to stay in the same room?”

“Yeah,” Matt said quietly. Shiro followed him into the room Matt had chosen. His was too close to his previous panic attack for him to feel all that comfortable in his designated bedroom, anyway. “I’m going to get your blanket.” Matt left, returning a few moments later with a blanket and a pillow for Shiro.

They laid down on the bed, getting comfortable. The beds were far larger than any of the bunks at the Garrison, likely due to the fact that most of the Galra seemed leaps and bounds bigger than even Shiro.

“So do you think that anything is going to be the same when we get back?” Matt asked in a small voice, just after Shiro assumed he turned the lights out.

“I don’t think so,” Shiro said quietly, regretfully. “The Garrison. The government… They’re probably going to…”

“Keep us?” Matt sighed. “Like in Independence Day?”

“Yeah. We’re going to be the aliens this time,” Shiro said, rolling so that there was less pressure on his wounded arm.

“I don’t… What if we don’t go back?” Matt said, trailing off. “At least we’d be free.”

“There’s a good chance that we’d die out here, Matt,” Shiro replied. “And I feel like ‘free’ is overselling it.”

Matt was silent for a while until he rolled over toward Shiro.

“Yeah. We’re still prisoners here, aren’t we? It’s not like we can _leave_ ,”

“Yeah. We don’t have a ship. We don’t know where we are,” Shiro said, frowning up at the ceiling.

“Even if we had a ship, I can’t get us out of here.” Matt groaned. “You’re the only one who can fly through those black holes.”

“Not anymore,” Shiro said, shaking his head and rolling away from Matt.

“Not yet,” Matt replied. “Yet is the key word.”

“Sure, Matt. Yet.”

* * *

 

The next morning brought much of the same.

Matt took Shiro to the med bay. Berez cleaned his wounds with a clinical bedside manner, telling him to keep the bandages dry. Matt showed him the showers and didn’t leave him alone, even though he didn’t manage to ask him to stay.

They ate again with Kolivan.

Shiro enjoyed that more than he thought he would.

From the previous day’s meal, Shiro thought that he would feel as useless as he had before, but Kolivan had instead plaid a game of verbal chess with him.

Kolivan was willing to give up snippets of what the Blades were doing, as long as Shiro gave up snippets of the prisoner block on the battlecruiser.

From what Shiro could get out of Kolivan, they had spies on the battlecruiser, but none on the prison block.

Kolivan was looking for someone, it seemed.

Shiro was willing to give him the information, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“This ship was actually ‘lost’ in one of the larger Galra advances in a neighbouring sector, about a hundred deca-phoebs ago,” Kolivan said between bites. “The Blades have a history well beyond anyone on this ship.”

Shiro considered his next move. That was a pawn, in terms of information. Anybody on the ship could have told him that.

“Really? So one of the prisoners on the block may have actually remembered when this got taken. They said they were a hundred and thirty deca-phoebs old.” He said, wiping his mouth. He tried not to be proud of how he’d managed to eat more than yesterday.

After a brief discussion of the differences in time measurement, (“Shiro, Earth is literally just America twice. Two times! This whole phoeb thing is just imperial vs. metric, all over again. I can’t believe we’re the Moon Moon of outer space.”) Kolivan made another move, a bishop this time, Shiro reckoned. A strafing thing, well aware of the distance the piece could travel should it meet no opposition, but not straightforward enough to take a killing shot just yet.

“I’ll show you to the kitchens tonight,” Kolivan said, gathering the dishes near himself. The meal had long been over. Was it lunch, or technically dinner? Shiro couldn’t be sure how long they’d been talking. “We are undermanned, at the moment. Kitchen duty has fallen by the wayside.”

“From what I understand, the layout of the ships haven’t changed much,” Shiro replied after a brief pause. He wasn’t allowed to ask any questions. He knew that much, but lord if he didn’t want to. “But I must admit, I’ve never been to the kitchen in the battlecruiser.” He said, shrugging a shoulder.

Kolivan hummed and gave Shiro his first free bite of information. It made Shiro weary. Was it a bit of good will, or was this a trap? He couldn’t be sure.

“We are running a complex mission at the moment, so you shouldn’t see too much opposition for a private meal, should that be something you wish to pursue.” Kolivan had said offhandedly.

Later on that evening, Matt and Shiro had decided to do just that.

“What all are you telling the Blades?” Shiro had asked, frowning as he tried to eat the Galra facsimile of a ham and cheese sandwich one-handed.

“We were looking for something called Voltron,” Matt replied, taking a drink of the strange orange liquid from the jug in the fridge. He really, really had wanted it to taste like orange juice, but the closest thing he could acquaint it to was a mixture of an energy drink and a chocolate milkshake. He couldn’t decide if he hated it or not. “I still don’t know what Voltron is, but they wanted me to create a scanner to find similar energy signatures.” He was quiet for a moment. “They didn’t like that it had to be close range.”

Those words made something inside of Shiro sink. He’d been so busy thinking about how _he_ had been affected by their captivity that he never even asked if Matt was alright.

The last time he’d seen Matt face-to-face, it was in the arena. He’d gotten and sent messages through Sam, but they hadn’t been able to see each other physically.

Shiro's stomach turned at the thought that he wouldn’t get another chance to see Matt, not ever.

“Christ,” Shiro said, shaking his head. “What… What happened?”

“They never beat us, not like… Not like you.” Matt said, his voice dripping in guilt. “But they wouldn’t feed us for ages, and even then, they’d give us just enough to survive. One of the other scientists died.” Matt said quietly. “They were bigger than the rest of us. Massive, honestly. Starved to death. We gave them as much as we could from our food, dad and me, but it just wasn’t enough in the end.”

“God, Matt. I’m sorry.” Shiro said, taking a deep breath. All the death he had seen had been quick. Every time he was forced to either die or kill, he tried to make it clean. He didn’t want anyone to suffer at his hands, and he didn’t want to give the Galra watching the pleasure of a bloody victory.

Shiro even had the luxury of not knowing much of what the fellow arena prisoners had to say. The universal translators in the cell blocks were notoriously haywire, sometimes not working for days at a time.

Matt had to watch someone die for weeks, if not months, knowing full well that they were going to die and having nothing they could do to stop it. He had to get to know them, talk to them all night while they sat there and listened to their body eat them from the inside out.

A shiver ran down his spine.

“I’ll live,” Matt said firmly. “But the Blades are really interested in this Voltron thing, too.” He said, looking around. “Think you can figure out what it is at dinner tomorrow?”

Shiro felt a thrill at the knowledge that he was still good for _something_ , at least.

“Yeah.” He said, nodding to himself. “Of course.”


End file.
